Victory Turned Failure
by bluespades
Summary: The Feast scene from Clove's point of view. Her victory-turned-failure.


**A/N: This one-shot is for TheHungerGamesFan01, who requested for it.**  
**Since Clove has a lot of dialogue, it didn't really turn out how I intended it to be, so I hope it's ok :)**  
**For the character category, it's sort of Clove and part Katniss part Thresh, so I just left it as Clove and Katniss.**

**Disclaimer: No ownership of the Hunger Games, nor any characters!**

I've always hated Twelve.

Maybe it is her flames that her stylist so beautifully designed just for her. Maybe it is her training score, the large '11' that stuck right on that screen and in people's minds. Or maybe it is her annoying 'star-crossed lovers' act with Lover Boy. Whatever it is, when she comes out for her pack, I know I have to go for her.

I throw a knife at her right away without thinking but she hits it away with her bow, and fires an arrow at me in return. Whoops. I surge to the right, saving my own life, but the arrow pierces my left arm and a spreading pain paralyses it. I try to ignore it though. I've endured far worse pains than this. Right now, what I want is my own victory over Twelve. _My own_, not Cato's. On _my own_ will.

She reaches her pack and I have another go at my knives when she turns around. It hits her eyebrow this time, and watching her stagger around makes me smirk. _Maybe you're not so tough after all, Twelve. _I take this opportunity to slam straight into her and sit on her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. The blood trickles down the cut on her forehead, which fills me with satisfaction. The pained look on her twisted face makes me want to drag this moment on, this glorious moment which I know all of us have desired for since she dropped that nest of _bees_ on our heads. They're not ordinary bees to make you imagine things, but I forgot their name. I've only seen them once in District 2.

"Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?"

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato," she snarls. But since she's on the ground with me over her, it's not intimidating at all. In fact, it's less than pathetic. "Peeta!" she screams, but I punch roughly where her windpipe is, effectively cutting off her voice. She's lying, obviously. I saw Lover Boy after Cato cut him, lying helplessly on the ground, deep gash in the thigh. It's a wonder he's survived until now, but no doubt both of them will be dead soon if I kill _her_.

I whip my head around, looking for Cato, making sure he's watching my back. I'm going to take my time here, and Cato better be on the lookout. I turn back to her. "Liar. He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? The medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it." I open my jacket, lined with knives, which I picked up at the Cornucopia the first day, undoubtedly meant for me.

Selecting a knife with a curved blade, I say, "I promised Cato if he'd let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show." Well, that was sort of true in a way. He always wanted to be the one to kill Twelve. But I didn't promise him. Not _promise_. I said it.

She struggles under me, trying to unseat me, but I push my weight to my knees, pinning her down even more. "Forget it, District 12. We're going to kill you just like your little ally...what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. Now, where to start?" I wipe the blood off her wound indifferently with the sleeve of my jacket. It'll be my war trophy, the blood of the Girl on Fire, who died at my hands.

"I think...I think we'll start with your mouth." I trace her lips with my knife as she clamps her teeth together. "Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips any more. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" I taunt her.

She spits blood and saliva in my face. The nerve to spit right at me! You're asking for it, Twelve. "All right then. Let's get started," I seethe. I push the blade of the knife into her pale and cracked lips, waiting for her to scream in pain, savouring this moment that I've always longed for ever since I came to hate her.

But something's out of place. I hear the heavy footfall behind me, and silently think, _Oh no._ That's not Cato's. There can be only one person who would...I steady my knife, ready to sink it into his flesh, but he chooses a totally different attack. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting, anyway, but I've got no time to think before he catches me by surprise, lifting me right off the ground. I scream by instinct, and also to let Cato know I'm in danger. Cato. You were supposed to be watching my back...

I'm flipped around and flung onto the ground, staring right into his eyes, and for a moment I actually empathise with Twelve. How scared you are when you're looking into the eyes of your potential killer. Cato! Where are you now? I keep telling myself to get a grip on my knife and throw it at him, but my arms are not responding. It's as if they're already dead. The next thing I know is that he's shouting at me.

"What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?"

I scramble backwards on all fours, shocked, and the only thought that forms in my mind is _no_. "No! No, it wasn't me!"

But he insists on it. "You said her name. I heard you. You kill her? You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

"No! No, I-" I start arguing, but I can see this will be pointless. 11 has got a rock in his hand, undoubtedly his weapon. So instead, I yell for Cato. I think I hear his reply, but he's so far away. _What _are you doing, Cato? You're supposed to be watching my back!

I barely have time to react before he smashes the rock into my head. It throbs so badly and my hand goes to my head, only to feel a dent in it. Now I'm scared. I'm going to die. What's it like to die? Is it as bad as this, or is it only because of the way I died? Black spots are swimming in front of me and I can't see right. What's happening? I think 11 and 12 are talking, and then they flee. Why did he let her go...

I feel someone close to me and I reach up a hand. Cato? His blue eyes are right above mine, blinking back tears, and he begs me to stay, to go home with him. I'm too weak to talk, so I moan instead. Can't he see I'm going to die? But I have one last thing to ask him. "Cato...win this. For me." Every word is an effort and it hurts to speak.

My head is spinning and I close my eyes, the blue eyes streaked with tears implanted in my mind's eye. It's something to hold on to.

I know I've always hated Twelve.


End file.
